


A lethal shot

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fluff, Gen, I'm thinking about something smutty in future, Innuendo, M/M, This series has been nothing but fluff so far, Thoughts?, With some angst in the works possibly maybe definitely, perhaps when I finish writing up the ideas I already have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title came /thiiis/ close to being "One-handed jokes".<br/>Anyway, Zevran gets hurt, and there's bathing in a river because why not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A lethal shot

The group had been travelling down the empty road for about half an hour, making good progress to the foothills of the Frostback Pass through farming country and barren land.

Dudain started to growl low in his throat, and with a gesture Theron brought the group to a halt, already reaching for their weapons. It might have been nothing, but they'd quickly learnt about the ambushes bandit groups or even soldiers sent by Logain tended to pull.

An answering snarl from a small rise to one side of the track had the Dalish elf automatically knocking an arrow; they'd had the unfortunate timing to cross paths with a hunting wolf pack. There were at least eight of them that Theron could see, staring down at the group. Really, with such a relatively small pack, it would be little more than an inconvenience. Half an hour, if that, and they'd be on their way again.

The high-pitched hum of Theron letting his first arrow fly signalled the start to the fight. One of the wolves went down almost immediately, the arrow sticking out of it's chest, but Dudain took no chances with ensuring it was dead. Another wolf fell under Sten and Alistair's teamwork, its senses addled by Morrigan's spells.

As Theron grabbed another arrow from his quiver, he noticed that three of the wolves had decided to target Zevran, and despite his skills he only had two short blades to deal with one wolf at once. The ranger watched, a chill running through him and time seemed to slow as one of the wolves flanking Zevran lept up and seized his arm in it's jaw, dragging the Antivan to the ground with a cry of pained surprise, one of his daggers falling from his hand to the floor.

Theron took a deep breath, aiming the next arrow carefully and making sure he drew the bowstring back as far as he could, before letting it fly. The wolf about to go for Zevran's throat slumped over him instead, half of an arrow shaft protruding from an eye with a slick thud.

Over the course of the fight, Sten, Alistair and Leliana had drifted down the road when the rest of the wolves had decided it would be better to try and retreat, to find something far easier to kill that wouldn't kill half of their numbers in response. Theron was dimly aware that they had killed the rest of the wolves. The only two remaining were the ones around Zevran. He was focused entirely on aiming the arrow, ignored the stares as the trio finally noticed.

Morrigan watched Theron, remaining quiet where she stood not five paces away as time seemed to slow, gripping her staff tightly. The Dalish elf, standing there with his bowstring drawn back and thin legs braced, looked almost chilling. His expression was grim, eyes staring ahead - whether at the arrow, wolf or Zevran she could not tell - and his mouth a thin line. Morrigan had seen him shoot countless arrows before, but she had never seen him look so focused and determined. It made her, and no doubt the other three, wonder if Theron had perhaps been holding back just how good a shot he was with a bow. The witch dared not interfere. She heard him exhale as the arrow was released, and it seemed the arrow sprouted from the side of another wolf's neck in the same instant.

Theron was reaching back for another arrow, readying himself for a shot at the final wolf, when Zevran rolled onto his side and brought his remaining blade up with a yell. The wolf yelped as the metal cut through it's fur and skin, staining the ground and some of Zevran's armour with it's blood, even though the elf was already covered in blood from the previous wolf that had fallen mid-leap onto his stomach, and his own blood running from the bite mark on his arm, the stretch of tanned skin where it hadn't been covered by armour or gloves.

A last arrow from Theron ended the wolf's misery as it lay bleeding and struggling to stand. He lowered his bow and walked over quickly as Zevran pushed the wolf off of himself. The Antivan let out a shaky breath, and tipped his head back to see the Dalish elf peering down at him with an expression that strangers would call grim, shoulders tensed and a tight grip on his bow.

"Now, this is a strangely familiar sight, no?" Zevran purred with a suave grin, as if he'd simply been knocked over rather than dragged to the floor by the bicep. He accepted the hand that helped him to his feet, gritting his teeth tightly. Blood slowly dripped down his arm, and he watched it begin to stain the fur lining of his leather gloves in dismay. They'd been a gift from Theron.

"Indeed. You covered in blood on the floor after only one or two blows?" Morrigan agreed from where she'd followed the black-haired elf over, peering closely at Zevran's wound while the Antivan glared at her. The wolf's teeth had punctured his skin in at least four visible places, and would definitely need cleaning, a poultice and bandaging, but it was easily survivable. Theron nodded quietly in agreement, also remembering that day when they'd met Zevran and his gang of ambushers.

"Should we go back? We passed a river a short while ago." Alistair suggested, looking Zevran's bloody armour over.

"We don't-" Zevran began, but the Dalish elf cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Alistair, you're in charge. Make sure those wolves weren't tainted with the Blight, and then keep walking. Zevran and I will catch up." The ranger said, stowing his bow away.

Alistair nodded, watching the two elves turn and walk back down the path, before he turned to the nearest wolf corpse.

"Are you ok?" Theron asked softly, once they were out of hearing distance of the group, looking over at Zevran and his still-bleeding wound with obvious concern creasing his forehead and the intricate _vallaslin_. Zevran was used by now to the lack of affection Theron tended to show him when they weren't alone together; he did not mind. The Antivan glanced at his arm at the question, and nodded.

"I've suffered worse." He shrugged, wincing sharply when the movement pulled at the wound and made it throb. Bad idea. "You were a good shot back there. The others seemed to be rather impressed." He commented when the silence stretched on, leading the way off the path to the river.

"I suppose so." Theron sighed dismissively. He seemed to have other things on his mind, unsurprisingly, so Zevran decided not to press the issue and perhaps risk making the ranger uncomfortable. The black-haired elf helped him to take his armour off, eyes on the bite.

"Are you sure you'll be ok? Do you think you can still fight like that?"

Zevran smiled, stepping into the water tentatively once his armour was off, walking out into the river until it came up to his waist, shuddering at the cold water.

"Your concern for me is touching, _mi amor_. If it turns out I cannot wield both my blades, I will use the one."

Theron paused in gathering Zevran's armour to be washed, and narrowed his eyes at the other elf.

"This better not be a setup to another one of your sword jokes." He warned, despite the smirk of amusement on his lips. Zevran noticed, and chuckled.

"Perhaps. But, if I cannot fight at all, I'll stand behind you and admire the view." He purred, lifting a dripping hand up. "Would you care to join me?" He asked. "It is not so cold."

Theron glanced down at the water doubtfully, and then slowly nodded.

"I may as well, I need to clean your armour anyway." He replied, briefly setting the leather down on the banks so he could tug his own off, soon joining the blond in the water and pretending to ignore the way Zevran looked him over in that familiar, appraising way. "You lied about it not being cold." The ranger pointed out, quelling a shiver, suddenly _highly_ aware that they were both in their smallclothes. "Shall I wash your arm, or can you do that?" He asked, gaze flicking to the drying blood that stuck to Zevran's arm, following the dips and curves of his muscles in a way that his own fingers normally did. Zevran almost shrugged again, but caught himself before he made that mistake again.

"I think I can manage one handed." The ex-Crow replied with a sly grin as he began to splash water over his arm, letting out a soft hiss through his teeth at the cold sensation. The Dalish elf nodded, turning back to grab Zevran's armour from the bank.

"I feel like you're going to make a lot of one-handed jokes from now on." He commented, a little warily, and Zevran grinned widely as he began to rub his arm carefully.

"Mostly around Alistair. I like seeing him squirm." That earned him a laugh, Theron ducking his head as he lowered the leather into the water and began to rub the faulds clean first, where most of the wolf's blood had dripped down.

"You're cruel." The ranger said, not looking up as he cleaned. Zevran watched him, the way a few of his tied back braids fell over a shoulder, the water glistened on his toned arms and lapped at his hips, and the light reflected patterns from the rippling surface onto his chest and stomach. The former Crow smirked, and went back to rubbing water over the wound, washing away the blood.

"Only when necessary." The blond replied airily. "Or, so I have been told."

"Did any of your past conquests tell you that?" Theron asked.

"Marks, lovers, or both? For me, you know there was little difference."

The ranger paused in trying to scrub blood out of a nick in the leather, and Zevran raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, _mi amor_?" He asked, and Theron finally looked up at him with a slight frown of confusion that disrupted the flow of his elegant _vallaslin_.

"Why would I be jealous? I'm just curious." The dark-skinned elf replied, and Zevran hesitated.

"So was I. But in answer to your first question, yes, many times." The Antivan replied quickly, finishing cleaning his arm and inspecting the wound. "What do you think?" he asked, stretching his arm out carefully so Theron could see, changing the subject.

"It looks like it needs a small poultice, and probably bandages." The ranger informed him after studying the bitemarks. "Does it still hurt?" He asked as he waded back to shore to lay Zevran's armour out to dry and pick up his bloodstained glove. Zevran experimentally rolled his shoulder and bent his elbow.

"Slightly, yes. But, it is manageable." He decided.

"Didn't I get you these?" Theron asked, and the blond smiled as he saw the other elf examining the stitching and the rabbit fur lining; they were obviously of Dalish origin. Zevran did not doubt that he had probably worn similar all his life. "You're still wearing them?"

"You sound surprised. Of course I am. They were a thoughtful gift, and comfortable." Zevran nodded, stepping closer as the Dalish elf began to carefully wash them. He looked around at what he could see of the river, the trees that followed it's curve to block the view of most of the road.

"How long do you think we've been here?" Theron asked once he'd managed to clean the blood out of the rabbit fur.

"Long enough for the rest of the group to have started walking again, most likely." Zevran shrugged.

"Do you think we should get dressed and go now, or wait for your things to dry first?" The black-haired elf asked as he went to go set the glove down with the armour.

"I do not mind a wait. We could sit on the bank and play I Spy, or you could teach me to swim?"

Theron snorted in amusement again.

"I can't tell if you're joking or not. How worrying, that you're turning into Alistair on me like that." He replied with a shake of his head as he stepped closer to Zevran.

"Better than Morrigan, no?"

"If there were two of her walking around offering snide comments whenever I somehow manage to displease her for some obscure reason, I think I'd walk up to the Archdemon itself without a weapon." Theron grimaced, and Zevran rolled his eyes.

"Here I thought I was the dramatic one." He muttered, blinking in surprise when the ranger stepped forwards to close the distance between them with a kiss. Unexpected, but a nice change.

"I can have my turn or two, can't I?" The Dalish elf replied quietly, pulling back just enough to drape his arms over the Antivan's shoulders. "Don't change, or start trying to make jokes that aren't innuendo." He requested, tilting his head to start lightly kissing Zevran's jaw, trailing his lips down to his neck.

Zevran nodded slowly, quickly realising that innuendo and even poultices could wait for a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Hurray for lots of dialogue; something I really need to work on and make longer than a few sentences at a time I think.  
> Even I'm getting sick of the fluff, so the next chapter will be something angsty, probably. I'm going to settle into a routine and take the next few days off so I can do some other things and get a few pieces down without rushing to post them like this one.
> 
>  
> 
> But seriously, if any of you guys/girls out there wants smut, I won't say no.


End file.
